It is not a garment I cast off this day, but a skin that I tear with my own hands.
Love is a gracious host to his guests though to the unbidden his house is a mirage and a mockery.
Love is quivering happiness.
Forgetfulness is a form of freedom.
Know, therefore, that from the greater silence I shall return... Forget not that I shall come back to you... A little while, a moment of rest upon the wind, and another woman shall bear me.
They deem me mad because I will not sell my days for gold; and I deem them mad because they think my days have a price.